


little quips and questing lips

by newyorktopaloalto



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M, Getting Together, canon as guideline not rule, competing POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 07:05:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16868365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newyorktopaloalto/pseuds/newyorktopaloalto
Summary: Sometimes, despite exhaustion, all you really want to do is have a good drink with a better friend. Neither Malcolm nor Hoshi were expecting the 'friend' bit to both de- and evolve in the span of a quick drink after a long day—human nuture was always a tricky little bugger.[Travis Mayweather is simultaneously the best and worst bro that two hard-headed, bumbling idiots could ask for.]





	little quips and questing lips

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything from Star Trek: Enterprise, that's all Parmount and its various &c.. It's been years, Star Trek, but I hope you'll let me play in this sandbox once more. 
> 
> This was _meant_ to be an Archer/T'Pol fic with Malcolm/Hoshi as a means to an end, but then it just became what is undoubtedly nothing more or less than Malcolm and Hoshi getting together. 
> 
> Time period wise, I guess it would take place in season 3 if the Xindi arc were pushed back—it's canonical pretty much through the first two seasons, but canon is a guideline and not meant to be taken seriously. POV wise, it moves pretty smoothly from Hoshi to Malcolm and back and forth, which is a style I have never attempted, but find myself enjoying. 
> 
> First Enterprise fic, so concrit is always welcome! I'm still playing around with these characters, so nothing is set in stone. Thank you for reading—I hope you enjoy my offering. Oh, and it gets to like a heavy PG13 (so like lime, for people my age).

“...said to him, 'though I do not purport any particular expertise in either xenozoology or geology, I am of the scientific opinion that what you have is _not_ a sapient mineral creature but rather a rock—of the sandstone variety, to be more specific—with small plastic eyes adhered to its surface.'” 

Travis paused for effect, blithely ignoring the snort from Malcolm and the small giggle escaping from Hoshi, before continuing with the newest scoop that was hitting the lower decks. 

“And I swear, the Captain just rolled his eyes before leaving the explanation to Commander Tucker.” 

“How does one explain a pet rock?” Malcolm asked rhetorically, a smidge of pity softening the laughter usually associated with poking fun at one of his good friends. “I can understand the captain's hesitance in being the one to explain the concept to a Vulcan—especially one that, well...” 

He trailed off, the meaning in his leading statement clear to the two ensigns at the table with him. 

“One that we have to see him ogling every other minute?” Hoshi finished, flushing at the wink Malcolm threw in her direction—a year ago he wouldn't have made the motion, and two months ago she wouldn't have flushed when he did so. 

“Quite right, Hoshi—Travis, you must not see the two of them much, being at the helm and all that rot.” 

“Like I haven't figured out how to see through the reflections,” Travis snorted in reply, and the three of them devolved into slightly manic laughter, the twenty-five or so hours of being on shift finally catching up to them all. 

Malcolm finished off the last of his tea, eyeing the dregs with a want that belied the weight of his exhaustion; he wiped at the corners of his mouth with the napkin taken from his lap and, almost in unison with the other two, stood up with his tray. 

“You lovely people up for a nightcap, or are you so knackered you'd fall asleep in my quarters?” Malcolm asked as they put their trays onto the designated carts to be whisked off back to the kitchen once full up with the detritus of the crew's meals. 

“I'll take that risk,” Hoshi replied, “especially if it's that brandy I know you've been saving.” 

“Well, Ms. Sato, who can say no to a ringing endorsement like that?” Malcolm said, showing her a flash of teeth before raising a brow at Travis, who shook his head at the unvoiced recitation of his previous question. 

“I'm on the bridge at 0700 tomorrow,” he explained away, waving his hand at Malcolm's—he could admit to the fact, despite Travis being a very good friend of his—token protest of 'it'll only take a tick, really.' His smile was conciliatory, but his exaggerated eyebrow wiggle at Hoshi before leaving was anything but, and there was no doubt that Malcolm was meant to see the motion. By some measure of British immobility and inscrutability, he didn't even twitch at the younger man's breach of friendship protocol; Hoshi didn't believe in God, but she felt it hard-pressed not to send up a thanks at not having to explain herself in such a public setting. 

They were almost to Malcolm's quarters, walking side-by-side with an ease that made his palms sweat like a schoolboy with an inaccessible love interest, before Hoshi interrupted their reveries with a clearing of her throat and a brief surveil of their environs. 

“So, not so inappropriate now, Malcolm?” she asked, a proverbial kick in her own pants and the long-suffering looks she would get from Liz being her primary motivators for even bringing up the long-buried topic. 

“Pardon?” Malcolm asked, turning in a stiff about-face that Hoshi winced to even experience second-hand. His eyes were a little wide and there was a flush at the bridge of his nose that he knew looked more like splotches of fever than anything else—he might have been a mite infatuated with the communications officer, no point of vehement (fraudulent) denial of the matter, and he might have also engaged in a little friendly flirting with the woman, but he didn't much think he was quite _that_ obvious with his current predicament. 

“Going into one of our quarters with only the two of us,” Hoshi responded, an answering flush on her own cheeks going down into the back of her neck—after a moment she nodded towards his lock, and he startled a bit, flashing her a distracted smile that held a bemusement she hoped she understood correctly, before keying in the code and gesturing grandly for her to enter before him. 

“Yes, well, it's been almost two years now, hasn't it?” Malcolm finally managed to state, ushering for her to sit at the one chair available in the room—as she sat down, he turned to the closet and rustled around for a moment, before emerging with two glasses and a two-thirds emptied bottle of brandy. 

“It has,” she agreed, rapping her knuckles against the metal of the desk cum table when he had poured enough for her. 

“And, well, we're known to be quite good friends, now,” he continued idly, pouring his own drink before stoppering the bottle and sitting against the adjacent corner of where Hoshi was. He didn't finish his statement, not really aware of where he wanted to go with it, before shrugging and taking a fast swallow of his drink. 

“Malcolm?” 

“Yes?” 

She paused, licking her lips before taking her own sip of brandy, watching him watch her motions. “I don't want to be your friend.” 

He raised an eyebrow, inscrutable—his hand tightened on the glass he was holding. 

“I mean, I don't want to be just...” she cleared her throat and took a breath as he shifted closer, “...just your friend.” 

“Are you quite certain?” he asked, setting his glass down a moment after she did hers; convulsively, she swallowed, before nodding her head in confirmation. Malcolm edged towards her before stopping in his own tracks. 

His brow furrowed and Hoshi could almost see the thought processes running through his mind—she knew he wouldn't make the first move, that his higher rank meant she had to be the one to do something about the precipice they had been finding themselves on more often than not when alone with one another. 

“I could say it in Vulcan if that'd make you believe me,” she stated after a few seconds of his eyes piercing into hers, her breath catching as she saw, in her peripheral, his fingers twitch in an involuntary motion towards her. 

“I'm sure it wouldn't hurt,” he teased lightly, and that, more than anything else, gave Hoshi the final push to stand up, pull Malcolm closer by the back of his neck, and, to borrow a term from his side of the pond, 'snog the living daylights out of him.' For a terrifying second he didn't respond, but after his spine straightened to back-breaking potential, she finally felt his lips move under hers. 

Muffling a groan into Hoshi's mouth, Malcolm hooked his leg around the leg of his desk and pulled the small woman to sit astride one of his thighs; she gasped a little, and Malcolm had no qualms about taking advantage of the action to tongue gently at her own, one of his hands going to the small of her back as her hips bucked a little when their kiss deepened. 

“Never mind, I believe you,” Malcolm stated, licking his lips for the taste of Hoshi and brandy to linger that little bit longer—he smirked at the darkening of her eyes, his free hand going to her hair to undo it from its trappings before running his fingers through it, down to the base of her neck where he rested his own hand. 

“What about you?” 

He snorted and Hoshi flushed a bit at her own question—it was more than a little obvious that he was into her, but at the same time, she couldn't help but feel as though it could amount to absolutely nothing unless—

“I would be honored if you would be more than 'just' my friend.” The parroting of her own awkward sentiment made what little part of her face that wasn't red before absolutely crimson, but if the crinkling of his nose was any indicator, he didn't seem to much mind the phraseology. “In fact, now that I believe we've come to similar pages, I must insist on proper protocol about the entire matter.” 

Hoshi, despite herself, found a grimace affixed to her face at the mere mention of 'proper protocol' coming from Lieutenant Malcolm Reed. Malcolm, at once—a rare feat, if he said of a right novice in emotional intelligence like himself—picked up on her body language and in a fit of fancy started mouthing lightly at her jawline, to which she gave more than enough room for him to continue his ministrations should he choose to do so; with an invitation like that, Malcolm was more than willing to take advantage of the tacit permission. 

“Proper protocol, being, of course,” he continued, voice muffled as it came from the junction of where her skin met her undersuit—she undid the clasp keeping the high collar up, thankful her coveralls were already half undone the second she got off of shift, “wherein we must spend multiple evenings together in order to properly acquaint ourselves with one another on a level that transcends mere friendship—there are things, I am quite sure, I do not know about you, and the same is true in my case.” 

He paused and Hoshi found that she had closed her eyes only when she had to open them in order to glare, unimpressed, at the man who was now looking at her, eyes intent in a way that made her realize another bout of reassurance about their intentions would be necessary—she wondered if this is what happened with all of Malcolm's would-be lovers, or if she were just special enough to get the insecurity and sub-par interpersonal skills mixed in with the utter wickedness of what she both knew and happily imagined his mouth could do. 

“I am, though flippant, suggesting more than just a one-off—on my earliest posting I was involved in a liaison and it more than soured.” He paused, acknowledging to himself that this could also sour, and by Hoshi's look she knew what he was doing, understood his hesitance, and vehemently disagreed—how he interpreted this all from a look of hers, Malcolm didn't pretend to understand, but he supposed it had to do with some sort of alien species they had encountered at some point in their various travels. “I would much prefer a shipboard romance to be, well,” he laughed a little, hitching Hoshi a little closer to him so she was sitting fully astride him, “to be exactly that.

“If you're amenable to that, of course Hoshi, I don't wish to presume.” 

“Mr. Reed, I am more than amenable to that.” She knew that her faux grave tone probably sounded just as silly as it felt, but it apparently did her a favor as Malcolm smothered a half laugh into her hair as he stood up easily—Hoshi squeaked as he moved, wrapping her legs around his hips and, after the shock passed, more than a little interested at the ease of his motions with a fully grown woman impeding him.

“Well, then, Ms. Sato, would you so terribly mind if I relocated us somewhere more comfortable for my back and bum? If the drink does me in after that shift we just had, it might be safer to get there sooner.” 

He paused. “Actually...” 

Though he trailed off, Hoshi understood what he meant and, despite her hormonal disappointment, found herself in agreement with her—well, with Malcolm, whatever the miniature of proper titling it all may be. She let her legs drop from his hips as he lowered her to the floor, keeping a tight hold on her waist despite the sturdy hull beneath her feet. 

“I'll see you tomorrow?” It was a question despite the both of them knowing the answer. 

“We'll have breakfast,” he agreed, before licking his lips in what Hoshi knew to be a nervous gesture, tilting her chin up to press a firm kiss against her lips, “and I'll glare at anyone who attempts to sit at our table.” 

“This is why.” 

Malcolm raised an eyebrow, bemused but willing to show her the benefit of the doubt as he walked his fingertips up and down her spine, an almost feral grin overtaking his previously sedate expression at her shiver. 

“Personal bodyguard,” she clarified, and she pressed her lips, quick and more than a little bit teasing with the tip of her tongue, at the seam where his mouth compressed to as he snorted in a half derisive, half fond response. 

“You could run them off yourself,” Malcolm assured her, and he could feel her grin from where her mouth had attached to his carotid artery at the compliment—though his response was pithy, it wasn't entirely untrue; Hoshi, despite her misgivings at the start of their journey, had come into her own in the last months, and Malcolm was undoubtedly not the only person on the ship to notice the changes in the linguist. He was however the only one for whom something came of it, and as she maneuvered their mouths together once more to see what the back of his teeth felt like, he felt a little pity for all the sorry bastards who wouldn't get the chance—because Malcolm was more than a little determined not to let this slip out of his hands like too many other things in his life had done before. After a moment he happily disengaged himself from that line of thought, instead pinning his focus on the woman whose hands had somehow slipped in the layer between his uniform and his shirt without his notice, the coverall having been tied at his waist during the eleventh hour of torpedo inspections that he was personally responsible for. 

“I really _should_ go,” Hoshi panted after another few furious minutes of getting nowhere closer to the door and everywhere closer to ripping the clothes off of one another. 

“Yes,” Malcolm agreed easily, shifting the hand that had wandered to her bum back to a more appropriate resting place—disregarding entirely, with perfect decorum, the inappropriate erection that must have been more than noticeable against the lengths of the their bodies where they were pressed together. 

“Yes,” Hoshi agreed, forgetting for a moment what they were even agreeing to, before she caught a glimpse of the chronometer and, with a groan bordering on a whine, remembered with a startling clarity that consisted of nothing more than the burgeoning exhaustion of a twenty-five hour shift finally reasserting itself against the tide of endorphin that had taken over for the last hour. 

A rueful grin matched her own, and she could see Malcolm's own exhaustion the slog of routine maintenance took up, reflected in his more hallowed features. 

“Breakfast,” she stated, disentangling herself from Malcolm with the ease of one who knew she would be tangling herself in much the same position sooner rather than later. 

“0730?” Malcolm suggested, and grinned a bit when Hoshi nodded with an enthusiasm usually reserved for a particularly interesting language she encountered—Malcolm had seen the expression a few times, but this was the first for a non communications reason, and he felt the smallest preen go through his body at the thought. 

While putting her hair back into its proper position, Malcolm tugged her uniform back neatly into place, offering her the last bit of her drink from the glass—she took it happily, pressing a chaste kiss to Malcolm's lips before tapping the door to let herself out. 

“Night, Malcolm, thanks for the drink!” she chirped, and he saluted her with what was left of his own, finishing it as the door closed behind her, not wanting to take his eyes off her backside until the vision was impeded by the pneumatic door reminiscent of a bulkhead. 

“I suppose I'll have to deal with you, then?” he asked himself sardonically, looking down at the still prominent bulge in his trousers, before flopping down on the bed, toeing off his boots as he let out a sigh. 

“Good form tonight, then, Malcolm,” he continued, nodding decisively as he started stripping down to his skivs as he continued, still a little punch-drunk from it all. 

“Good form tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> xoxo
> 
>  contact at: newyorktopaloalto@mail.com
> 
> (quest to put 'carotid artery' in every makeouts scene; this is normal, this is fine, this is what the people want—it's not weird, I promise.)


End file.
